Flash from the Past
by Anya Cavanaugh
Summary: A glimpse of Neil and Eva's life before they got into Sigmund Corp. REVIEW, FOLLOW AND FAVORITE :)
1. Luncheon Dreams

**Chapter 1 – Luncheon Dreams**

**_Wednesday, 13 April 1995_**

"Neil, you slowpoke! Hurry! I don't want anyone to steal our seat again!" an eight-year-old Eva. He was returning his science books to his Mario backpack.

"T-Then go a-ahead," Neil stuttered. "I'll be t-there so-soon."

Eva huffed.

"Fine!" she called over her shoulder as she stormed out of the vacant class. "But don't blame me if I finish your pastrami sandwich!"

"H-Hey! Not fair!"

"Then move it!" Eva dashed back into the classroom and pushed Neil out, the soles of his shoes screeching noisily against the squeaky clean floors.

"E-Eva! Hey!" Neil protested, completely panicky. "Stop!"

"Hurry!" Once they reached the grass field, Eva grabbed his wrist and ran, ignoring his constant protests, until they reached a bench, _their _bench.

It was an ordinary bench, set aside from the rest of the school, facing the playground with a perfect view of the swings and the jungle gym, but to Eva and Neil, who had been close friends since they were born (their mothers were best friends), it was anything but ordinary.

It was on this exact bench their mothers met for the first time when they were in fifth grade (Eva's mum was a social butterfly while Neil's mum was cumbersome). The reason behind their friendship was almost unknown, but no one questioned it. Not really. Sporadically, Eva would, but she never got an answer.

It was here that Eva and Neil made their first deal; Neil would share her his notes from every lesson, as Eva was too lazy to jot anything down and would drift into a heavy slumber in the middle—occasionally at the start—of class, and in turn, Eva would sneak in chips and chocolates from her pantry to give Neil, as he was too poor to afford any. His father died when he was very young—he didn't have any vivid memories of him—and his mother is almost always away at work in the factory downtown, two hours away from where he lived, so that she could provide her three children with a meal everyday, and after school and on weekends, Eva invited Neil to her house and let him take food for his family (without her own parents' consent), and left after he had a good tuck in.

This was also the place where they share their secrets, like the time Eva carefully placed a bucketful of soapy water on top of an ajar door to soak an unsuspecting, who, regretfully, turned out to be her mother, and she was grounded for a week after that. There was also the time where Neil dropped his $10 in the school's bathroom and when he dashed to retrieve it, he ended up getting a swirlie because other boys found it first (mind you, when you're in first grade—or if you happen to be penniless—$10 is a lot of money).

Neither of them knew how their friendship began either. It was, like, one day, they were neighbors and the next, they had classes and lunches and study dates together. They didn't have anyone else beside themselves, which was a huge relief for the stuttering, socially awkward Neil. Eva was cool and amiable; she had other friends, too, but she preferred Neil's calm demeanor and his accident-prone personality. Plus, he was intelligent and hard working, so that was huge plus point for the work-shy eight-year-old. Thus, the deal.

Eva settled on one end of the bench and took out a crumpled, brown paper bag, consisting of Neil's pastrami sandwiches and a carton of chocolate milk.

"Thanks, E-Eva," Neil said and pushed up his thick, round glasses.

"Nof foblem," Eva replied, her mouth full of peanut butter. "Fhat foo you reckon of Ms. Farriet's homefork?"

Neil looked surprised. "Were you actually paying attention?"

"The word 'dream' got my attention," she said. "So, are we supposed to, like, write our dreams or something?"

"Pretty m-much. Generic, if y-you as-ask me."

"What does that mean?"

"Common. I mean, we've done this so many times before. Remember last year when Jules (Eva's cocker spaniel) swallowed your house's front door key and coincidentally, the other day, you were just watching this TV show on how the owners of some mutt put him through the stomach surgery because it swallowed too many household items and it turns out, it nearly digested a bunch of this as well like a moldy sock and retainers and so you decided you wanted to be a dog surgeon so you could cut open dogs' stomachs and take a look at their contents and see what random object they swallowed?"

By the time Neil finished talking, he was out of breath, his stutter had gone missing (this always happens when he has something interminable and important to say in one go) to and Eva's face was very red and hot.

"Shut up," she muttered. "That was a year ago."

"S-Still," Neil was back to stammering.

"So, what's your dream?" Eva asked, sliding an inch down the bench.

"Me?" Neil said. "I-I don't k-know. Get my f-f-family out of p-poverty, I g-guess?"

"That's a big dream for a nine-year-old," Eva remarked. "How are you going to do that?"

"I told you, I d-don't know. I h-have no d-dream," Neil said, subdued.

"That's not true!" Eva cried. "Everyone has a dream."

"N-Not m-me." In a rush to change the subject, Neil said, "W-What a-about you, E-Eva? What's y-your dream?"

"My dream?" Eva echoed, lost in thought. Her hand reached for the sky, as if mapping the constellations. "My dream . . . is to be able to work for Sigmund Corp."

"S-Sigmund C-C-Corp?" Neil repeated, astounded. "T-They're the p-p-people w-who ma-makes dre-dreams come t-true, r-right?"

"Well, not exactly," Eva said wisely. "It involves memories. See, they take a dying patient's wish and then they travel back in time, via the patient's memories so they can—how do you say it, uhm—'plant' their wish into their early childhood memories, so it stays with him for the rest of his or her life."

"I-I don't g-get it," Neil said. "I-If th-the goal i-is to m-make the d-d-dying p-person's wish c-come true, w-why not j-just p-plant it in his re-recent memories?"

"Then it'd be too late," Eva said patiently. "Mind you, they deal with dying people, and dreams have to progress overtime. They just can't—_poof—_appear and come true just like that."

"I-I see. S-So say my d-dad was here, a-and he w-was dying, y-you'd treat h-him w-with this m-memory m-machine? So e-even if h-his dream was f-futile in r-reality, in h-his memories, it-it'd be r-real?"

"Precisely!" Eva said, pleased that Neil was finally catching up.

"B-but w-why do y-you want t-to work t-there?" Neil asked.

"Because, Neil," Eva said, licking her peanut buttered fingers. "I can be a temporary fairy godmother (Neil rolled his eyes teasingly, but Eva didn't notice), also because both my parents work there."

"Really?" Neil exclaimed. "W-Wow, I n-never k-knew."

"That's because I never told you, silly," Eva giggled and punched him lightly on the arm.

The bell rang and the kids began to scurry away from the playground, the noise of their loud talking and laughing filling the air.

"Come on," Eva said, crushing her paper bag into a ball and aimed it at a nearby trashcan. "We better get to class. We have Mr. Dragoon next, and I really don't want to get in another row with him. Ugh."


	2. Cure for Stutters

**Chapter 2 – Cure for Stutters**

**_Sunday, 26 August 1998_**** will always be remembered as the day Neil divested of his stutter. It took two entire weeks (Google had just been invented within that year) but their relentless efforts proved to be rewarding. **

** "Here," Eva said, skimming down the webpage entitled 'How to Stop Stuttering. They resided in Eva's spacious bedroom; she was sprawled on her four-poster bed while Neil was prostrate on the burgundy, carpeted floor.**

**"First step, you have to be mentally and physically relaxed," Eva read.**

**Neil instantly sat up and shook back his shoulders.**

**"Tell yourself you're going to do fine," Eva continued. "The more you worry, the likelier you ****_will _****stutter."**

** "O-Okay," Neil gulped. "Oh, I just did it a-again—ugh!"**

** "Calm down, Neil," Eva said with a laugh. "You're not going to get it right if you panic. Release all the tension in your back, neck, shoulders, arms and legs. Twist your torso and buzz your lips before speaking."**

** "F-Fine," Neil said. "I'll t-try my b-best." He huffed out a large puff of air, did everything Eva told him and cleared his mind. "Okay. What next?"**

** Eva scrolled down. "Stand in front of the mirror and tell yourself this: I am bigger than this stutter; this stutter is not bigger than me!' You try."**

** "I-I am bigger than this st-stutter; th-this stutter is not b-bigger than me," Neil complied unsuccessfully. "I am bigger th-than this st-stutter; th-this stutter is not bigger than m-me." He was growing visibly upset. "I am b-bigger th-than this st-stutter; th-this stutter is bigger than—argh!"**

** "Calm down, Neil," Eva said again with a slight edge. "Deep breath."**

** Neil abided, his chest puffing out from the oxygen intake. His nostrils filled up with strong, lavender essence.**

** "Now out . . ."**

**His breath came out in a long, loud puff. Neil felt a bit calmer.**

**"Good," Eva said, smiling. "Try again. We could say it together. On my count, okay? One, two, three . . ."**

**"I am bigger than this stutter; this stutter is not bigger than me," they said, coinciding. Neil stumbled over a few words, but caught himself in time.**

**"I . . . I did it," Neil breathed in disbelief, and broke out into nervous giggles. "I can't believe I really d-did it—oh crap!"**

**Eva chortled, a hand clamped over her mouth. "Awesome! We'll omit the last blunder. Don't sweat the small stuff. Now for the next step . . ." Her attention returned to the open laptop. "Oh, this a little trickier; visualize the words before you say them?"**

**"Huh?" Neil said, puzzled. "How do I do that?"**

**"Like in a book," Eva said. "It says here that if you can imagine words, it'll be harder for them to slip into a stutter. If you can't imagine it, well, then you stutter. Have a clear mental picture of what you want to say."**

**"Right. What do I have to say?"**

**"Oh, uhm . . ." Eva's eyes wandered around her room for inspiration. "Uhm, I have to go pee."**

**Before Neil could interject, Eva had dashed out for the lavatory. **

**_Right, _****Neil thought. ****_I don't that's what she wants me to say. _****His eyes travelled around Eva's room. ****_I can't believe it's never changed after all these years. _****Her wallpaper was still striped dark violet and periwinkle; it had faded splotchy stains from when her ceiling leaked. There was a small, oak dressing table in the corner. Her study table was cluttered with magazine cut outs and scraps of colored paper; she was planning on making a collage of her favorite band, Simple Plan (which Neil thought was a but extreme for an eleven-year-old like Eva). Her crisp, white bed sheets were rumpled because before they decided to cure Neil's stutters, they jumped all over it, commencing a pillow fight (Neil lost and fell off the bed). Fluffy, teddy bears dressed frilly dresses and bow ties, which previously occupied the bed, littered the floor. The only one that stayed (squished between two pillows) was the scruffy, handmade Winnie the Pooh; a gift from Eva's deceased grandmother. It was her favorite doll.**

**But Neil's most favorite thing about Eva's room was the window seat. It was set apart from the rest: peacock blue with matching lacy curtains and ornate, white bookshelves on either side. The large window overlooked the immense courtyard, complete with topiaries cut out in the shape of fairy tale characters; the walls were covered in flowery vines like wisteria and clematis; a flagstone path down the middle and a tiered fountain in the center.**

**A distant click of the door signaled Eva's return from her business.**

**"Whew, all done," she said, plopping down on her bed with a soft ****_pff_****. "So, repeat after me. My name is Neil Brian Watts and I am twelve. Try not to stutter too much."**

**"'Kay." Neil inhaled deeply and released. "My name is Neil B-Brian—grr—"**

**"Oh, I forgot to mention; when you stutter, try letting out tension by letting out guttural noises at each block, for example, my name E-E—grr—Eva Rosalene. Or I am t-t—blaaah—twelve years old."**

**"Oh?" Neil said, semi-understandingly.**

**"Just so you continue after every blaaah or grr, you should be fine."**

**"Let me try again. My name is Neil Brian Watson and I am t-t—grrr—twelve years old."**

**"There you go! That's awesome!" Eva exclaimed, rewarding Neil with a hearty slap on the back and he gasped.**

**"T-Thanks," he choked out. "And I was n-not—gaah—not stuttering."**

** "Just one more steps to go, Neil!" Eva hopped off the bed and took a book from her nightstand drawer. "Here, catch!"**

** But the book slipped from Neil's fingers and bounced off his knee. It was ****_Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone._**

******"What's this f-for?" Neil asked.**

** "Read a book out loud," Eva read. "It will be hard at first, but it will teach you how to breathe. One problem most stutters have is knowing when to breathe while reading or talking. It also giving you practice on recovering from stuttering. Your charisma skills will be improved."**

** "Okay," Neil said tentatively, clearly nervous, and flipped to the first page. "**_Mr. and Mrs. D-Dursley, of number four, P-Privet Drive, were proud to s-say that they were perfectly normal, th-thank you very much. They w-were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, be-because they just didn't h-hold with such non-nonsense . . ._"

"Not bad," Eva remarked, pursing her lips. "You've improved loads."

Neil grinned from ear-to-ear.

"_Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, a-although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden f-fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small s-son called Dudley a-and in their opinion there was no finer boy a-anywhere._

"_The Dursleys had e-everything they wanted, but th-they also had a-a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. Th-They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in-in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say ifthe Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small son, too, but they had never e-even s-seen him. This boy was another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with a ch-child like that._"

"One more paragraph," Eva encouraged. "You're nearly there!"

"_When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray T-Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that s-strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair. None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window_."

And in that very moment, Eva leapt off the bed and squeezed Neil in a bone-crushing hug, suffocating him.

"I'm so proud of you, Neil!" she squealed.

"Thanks," Neil said, fighting for breath. "Now will you please let go of me? I can't breathe."


	3. Remnants of the Unfulfilled

**Chapter 3 – Remnants of the Unfulfilled**

_Thursday, 14 July 1999_

Eva sat alone on a bench outside the hospital under the torrential rainstorm, sniveling and hiccoughing uncontrollably, numb from the cold. The rest of her family is inside, weeping and grieving for Mr. Frederick Rosalene, her father.

It happened so suddenly; one minute, they were enjoying lamb chops and a vegetable side dish, the next thing they know, mum was at the wheel, exceeding the speed limit, her seatbelt unbuckled, her youthful face creased with panic and trepidation; Eva restlessly ensconced on the passenger's side, phoning everyone on speed dial; her dad prostrate in the backseat with his mouth agape, his glasses askew, his eyes bulging, every muscle in his body rigid, his breathing shallow and his heart barely functioning.

He was immediately brought to the ICU and there was nothing much they could but wait anxiously and pray with all their hearts behind the closed hospital doors. Eva caught a glimpse of her father get careened away on the gurney: whey-faced, frail, an oxygen mask covering his breathless mouth and nose. She implored and beseeched and entreated with God so that her father would weather the storm and survive.

She was her mother contending with the doctor and nurses to let her in and be with her husband. Eva need not ask why; she knew her mother was going to perform the wish-granting fulfillment on him.

But alas, the doctors prohibited her from seeing him until the surgery was complete and they left her racking in irrepressible sobs in the corner, her face buried in her hands.

The rest of the family arrived later, their faces red and senseless from the heavy rain, their eyes bloodshot. Aunt Annabelle, Mr. Rosalene's younger sister, came bursting through, her petite frame trembling violently. When she saw Eva's mum, she was inconsolable. Nobody blamed her. Uncle Martin and his children—Eva's cousins—Maria and Mikey sported deadpan expressions.

Then Mr. Rosalene's co-workers came rushing in, looking like they've just come out of the swimming pool, their eyes also distended from crying.

The only ones who weren't there were Neil and his parents.

Waiting for the doctor to come out with news was the longest half an hour in Eva's entire life (and everyone else's for that matter), that by the time the sound of shuffling footsteps were heard, everyone leapt out from their seats and dried their eyes with their hearts in the throats.

"D-Doctor," Mrs. Rosalene rasped. "H-How—M-My husband?"

The doctor shook his head forlornly. "I'm sorry, we tried out best," he whispered, agony in his voice. And Eva's world came crumbling down.

The Watts came bustling in, huffing and puffing and bitterly cold, just like everyone else. Normally, the sight of Neil permeated in rainwater would be hilarious, but after hearing the news, Eva couldn't even look at him.

"Oh God," Mrs. Watts panted. "We're so sorry, traffic held us back. Is it—How is he, doctor? Did he make it? Please tell me he made it!"

But the grim look on his face says it all, and Mrs. Watts backed away, stumbling in her step.

"Oh Lord . . ." she gasped. "

Eva ran out of the hospital, unable to take the sorrow anymore. Tears cascaded out of her eyes and her heart raced painfully. She didn't see where she was going. She kept bumping into people. She just needed to get out.

"Eva! Wait!" Neil shouted behind her, but his words fell to deaf ears. The heavy beat of raindrops had never felt so relieving and suffocating to Eva before. It was heavenly, yet it was not able to wash away the heartache and distress. It was more than she could handle.

Eva weakly sat down and the bench, her legs dangling limply from the edge, and howled in anguish. Lightning flashed and thunder clapped but she went on howling and yowling and shrieking at the top of her lungs. Anything. Anything to rid herself of this pain.

Images of her father flooded her disconsolate mind. Pictures of when she was five, picking apples from the orchard. She sat on his broad shoulders, laughing and clapping at the same time she struggled to pick a Granny Smith. Visions of her seventh birthday. The day she got her first Barbie, even though her mother was quite upset, as she was against it in the first place (she said it creates unnecessary sky-high expectations for young girls).

Blurry, fuzzy snapshots of Mr. Rosalene surged on and on; his warm smile, his orotund, belly laughter, his horn-rimmed glasses, his favorite blue spotted tie that looked fairly ridiculous in the women's eyes. It was too much. Eva hugged her knees to her chest and buried her face. Her tears are burning but frigid. Her heart palpitated, recalcitrant to her brain's commands to calm down.

But she can't calm down. She just couldn't!

Her wails grew louder and the rain poured harder than ever, stinging and burning and biting at her skin.

"Eva . . ." a soft voice said, barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid he was going to hurt her if he raised it any more.

An angel, perhaps? Had he come to take away her father? Eva looked up from under her eyelids; she half expected to see a radiating glow, but her other half wanted to scream at his face to bring his father back.

But all she saw was a pair of scruffy tennis shoes and two skinny legs.

Eva looked up, her lower lip quivering. "N-N-Neil?"

"Hey . . ." he said, still in the same voice, and took a seat quite apart from Eva and set aside the black umbrella he was holding. "I'm so sorry . . ."

"D-Don't . . ." Eva croaked. "You're just g-gonna . . ."

She broke down again, clutching Neil's shirt in her fists, her loud sobs racking her tiny frame. She felt a secure hand on her back and Neil pulled her into a hug, which made her cry louder.

"Why did he have to go, Neil?" Eva moaned in anguish. "Why did God have to take him away so soon?! Why?!"

"I-I don't know, Eva," Neil said, stroking her hair consolingly. "I'm so sorry. I guess there are some things that aren't meant to be known."

Eva ululated on, with Neil by her said, holding her, safe and sound.

But it just didn't feel the same.

"W-What'll b-become of m-my life, N-Neil? Dad's g-gone! M-Mum w-will have to go l-look for work now, a-and we c-can't pay our d-debts a-any-anymore. I-I think w-we're g-going t-to have t-to move ou-out and s-sell e-e-everything."

"Hey, don't say that," Neil comforted, his voice sterner now. "You don't know what's going to happen tomorrow or for the rest of our lives, for that matter. Don't just directly assume that this is how your life's going to be like just because something takes a turn for the worse. Have a little faith, and after all . . ." Neil looked up, a small, kind smile on his lips. "You've got me. I'll always be here for you, no matter what. I promise I won't go dying young on you." He raised his pinky. "Pinky swear."

Eva couldn't help but return that altruistic smile with one of her own and held up her own little finger and linked it with his. "Pinky swear."

"Great," Neil said with a huge grin and pushed away Eva's damp hair so that it doesn't cover her face. "Now let's go back; your mum's waiting. And we're probably going to have to explain why our clothes are so . . . wet."


End file.
